Dasvidaniya
by whimseyrhodes
Summary: Russians and humiliation go hand in hand, and now they have Eliot.  WARNING:EXTREMELY DARK!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimers: Not mine. Though not for lack of emailing, tweeting, posting, harassing...etc.

_**WARNINGS: I have crossed to the dark side on this fic people. I am being totally serious. This is an extremely DARK fic, so read at your own risk. Descriptions of rape, though not graphic, are in this story.**_

Another A/N: This is from a Role-play that a friend and I have started, and therefore one of the reasons I have been absent so much. She lets me beat and wail on Eliot like there's no tomorrow, and this little ficlet was born. Some of this has been written by Irish63116, my _closerthanacybersib_ sweetheart, to whom I owe a lot.

Dasvidaniya

Nate walked into the apartment and saw Hardison at the kitchen counter, nose deep in the laptop. He didn't even raise his head when he said, "Hey, Nate, you got any soda?"

Nate sighed, pulling the bottle out of one of the grocery bags he put on the counter, putting it in the outstretched hand.

"Thanks."

He heard voices in the other room, Parker and Sophie, arguing over the necessity of needing a good wardrobe. He looked up and saw Parker storm out of the room, Sophie close on her heels.

"But Parker, if you don't have..."

"I will never need anything like that!" Parker said, desperately trying to get away from one of Sophie's lectures about the advantages of three closets worth of designer clothes.

"Nate!" She latched onto him like a drowning cat. "Tell me we have a job, ok? A really fun job, like one that we need to rappel down a building for, or crawl through a lot of vents for, or something, anything?" Her hopeful voice made him want to laugh.

"No, Parker, sorry. Nothing like that, at least, that I know of. Hardison have anything?"

"No," Parker pouted, shifting a little so he was between her and the grifter. "He said to wait for you, and then _she_ came in." She gave Sophie the hairy eyeball.

"Anyone seen Eliot?" he asked, trying to get both of them off the subject.

A chorus of 'No's answered him.

A frisson of worry poked at his conscience but he ignored it. A week ago Eliot had told him that he planned on cooking one of his specials for them tonight, a dish he called 'Rattlesnake Steak', something they had never heard of but were looking forward to trying.

"Oh well," he said, "Guess he's just running late."

Three hours later Eliot still hadn't shown up and they were all more than a little worried.

"Hardison, please tell me something," Nate said as he paced.

"Nothin' man. There's been no activity at all on any of his aliases, no credit cards used, no John Doe's reported in hospitals of morgues fitting his description, nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero..."

"Yes, Alec," Sophie sighed. "We get it."

Hardison just shook his head and immersed himself in the computer, doing things that none of them understood, but every one of them appreciated.

Pacing left his feet aching, but there was nothing else he could do. He saw Sophie look at him every once in a while with a worried cast to her eyes, but he just turned and paced the other way until the wall stopped him. Parker disappeared upstairs a few times, but always returned a little while later through the front door, the bedroom door, or even the fire escape once. Her entrances failed to faze him anymore.

Sophie called Le Chateau Chenreau and ordered food to be delivered, but when it was, none of them had the appetite to eat, and so it grew cold sitting on the counter.

The doorbell rang again, and they all looked up from their individual wanderings in surprise. Nate was the first to recover, and he walked to the door and opened it to find a young delivery boy standing there. The teen held out a package to Nate and then a clipboard.

"Need ya to sign, here, here and here," he indicated with his pen. Nate did as instructed and the messenger quickly walked away, intent on his next deliveries.

"Nate?" Sophie walked up behind him as he turned the small package over in his hands. "What is it?"

The older man shrugged and opened it, finding a note attached to the bottom. He held it in his fingers as he opened the package, and dropped it in horror and surprise.

Sophie looked down at the package and let out a shriek, jumping back into Hardison, who had walked up to join the others.

"Sophie, what...?" Parker started to say, darting to the woman, and she looked down and clasped her hand over her mouth.

On the wooden floor lay the small box on its side, a lock of long chestnut hair peeking out from within, lying in a small smear of blood.

Nate opened the note with trembling fingers and read it; his face grew white.

"Nate?" Sophie whispered. "What is it? What...what does it say?

He handed it to her.

"Stop looking.  
We have your hitter.  
He will not be returned."

Sophie dropped her hand, the note still clutched in it. Hardison gently took her hand and retrieved the paper, reading it out loud to himself and Parker. Parker made a small sound and sat down abruptly on the floor, as though a marionette whose strings had been severed.

Nate shut the door slowly, his thoughts racing like silverfish around his brain. He bent down and picked up the package, careful not to touch Eliot's...the hair inside, and took the note back from Hardison.

"We won't be needing this," he said and walked into the kitchen, throwing the box into the trash.

Nate looked up as Hardison's computer dinged. He walked over to it and saw that there was a video attachment to a new email from an address he didn't recognize.

"Hardison?" he said. "Something just came into your mailbox."

Hardison walked over to the computer and sat down, distracted in a way that he couldn't shake. He looked at the laptop like he hadn't ever seen one before.

"Open it," he said to the hacker, and it shook Hardison out of his daze. His hands went up to the keyboard and he punched in a few sequences. It was automatically set to open on the media wall, and he turned to watch, gasping as the file opened.

On the six screen wall they could see Eliot, hanging from the ceiling, manacles on his wrists and his bare feet barely reaching the ground. His wrists were torn and bleeding down his arms, blood dripped from a gash on his temple and ran down his cheek to mix with the blood on his lips. His blue eyes were half open and staring blankly without recognition. His nostrils fluttered as he gasped in a breath, and his chest jerked.

"Search all you like," said a mechanically altered voice from off-screen, "You will not find him. But I will be gracious and leave you this small image to enjoy, and if you ask nicely, more photos."

Parker screeched from her position on the floor and _crawledscuttledslid _to the back of the couch, hiding behind it as she crouched into a ball, her arms over her head.

Nate sat down gingerly beside the thief, rubbing her back awkwardly. "We'll get him back, Parker, you know we will. Now we know for sure he's still alive, right?" He tried to project hope into his voice.

Looking up at Hardison, he said, "I'm sorry, Alec, but I need you to look at everything you can about that video. Backgrounds, that voice...see if you can reconstruct it, trace the IP address, anything you can think of." He looked into the sad brown eyes and cringed, realizing what he was asking the hacker to do.

Hardison heard the request and nodded, closing his eyes for a second. He rewound the video and watched it again, without sound so he could focus on the images. Then he watched it again. He pushed the fact that this was Eliot out of his mind, making it just another person, another faceless pawn.

The hacker blinked a few times, his eyes burning from staring at his best friend/brother's body hanging still from the ceiling. He reached into his pack and plugged in his headphones, slightly closing the laptop to give his mind a break. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the voice and background sounds, already knowing where each beat was in the video.

He shook his head, trying to clear it of the image like an Etch-A-Sketch. He sighed softly as he knew in his heart he wouldn't be able to forget that for a long time

Nate looked at Hardison, listening to his headset with his eyes closed. Although he wanted to get Eliot back _yesterday_, he knew that the hacker needed his time to regroup, or Eliot wouldn't be the only one deeply scarred from this encounter.

Hell, no one was going to come out of this one sane.

Hardison heard something unusual in the background and he frowned, moving to rewind the video. He heard it again and frowned. "Nate." He whispered, motioning for the man to listen to it. He handed the man the headphones and moved it back again so Nate could listen.

Nate took the headphones and put them on, hearing the mechanical voice. He frowned. "What am I listening to?" he asked.

"Water," the hacker said. "And low horns."

Nate closed his eyes and concentrated on the sound track. He heard the sounds, but wanted to make sure they were really there and not a figment of his hopeful imagination. He swirled his finger, indicating Hardison to rewind and replay the sounds. Yes, he heard it.

"Yes, it's there, sounds like...a foghorn?"

Nate jumped as Hardison's computer chirped again. Apprehensively, he looked over at the hacker and indicated to Hardison to open the images in the email on the small screen.

The first was a short video shot without sound that showed Eliot with his hands tied behind his back. To the side a gun was held to his temple, and his eyes were looking angrily in that direction as the finger tightened around the trigger. The hammer came down and Eliot jerked, but nothing happened.

The next one was a photo that showed Eliot at what appeared to the beginning of the kidnapping because there was little evidence of blood or beatings, but his arms were tied behind his back, forced over a bar that was tied under his arms. He was kneeling on a cement floor, a black hood over his head.

The next photo showed him still in the exact same position, but the timestamp indicated it was four hours later.

The following showed the same, with a time stamp of three hours later.

"Stress positions," he murmured quietly to the hacker. "They leave little evidence, but after an hour or two they're extremely painful and the muscles start to cramp." He looked again. "And the hood..."

"So...what's the hood for? Other than the obvious?" Hardison asked Nate.

"It's used for humiliation and sensory deprivation. Russians have used it for eons. They go for the idea of breaking the spirit as well as the body of those in their possession. That's why the whole Russian Roulette thing. Messes with the head," he said softly. "From the looks of his eyes, Eliot's not only been subjected to that, but to sleep deprivation as well."

He sighed. "On the plus side, Russians like to gloat a lot. There's a chance we'll be getting more and more of these images, and you'll be able to get a fix off of one or more of them."

As he spoke, three more attachments popped up on Hardison's screen. "What are these sick fucks doing, taunting us?" Hardison growled, his voice sounding very much like Eliot's.

Nate said quietly, "You have enough to work with for now; I'll open them on the other computer."

* * *

Eliot heard voices in the background like buzzing hornets in his skull. They didn't matter anymore.

Bees swarmed through his head, making images float across his eyes, flashes of pictures, the flash of a camera...

A thousand images invaded his brain, he couldn't filter them out, they receded to the same place his pain did, in the nothingness of blackness of darkness of nothing. Nothing mattered anymore; he was a breathing, twitching husk that hung like a slab of meat from the ceiling, swinging back and forth with each punch, each kick, each jab.

_************************THREE DAYS AGO**************************_

The Russians untied his arms from the bar behind his back and he screamed as the muscles in his shoulders and arms cramped and spasmed uncontrollably. He fell onto the floor, listening as the men who held him laughed in their thick, rough voices.

He was pulled up from the concrete in a vice-like grip, the arm tight around his throat, and he clenched his teeth against the pain that rocketed down his spine from the dislocated shoulder. "Your shoulder is displaced, dog. We put back, yah?" he heard, and then his shoulder was viciously snapped back into place. He heard himself scream again before he passed out.

Eliot woke up blindfolded and tied to a chair. His shoulder throbbed from the cruel re-location, but at least it wasn't a spike of agony that shot through his entire body with every heartbeat. They had put earplugs in as well, and he could hear nothing. His heart sped up, realizing that he was effectively both deaf and blind. When nothing happened for what seemed like hours, he started to settle down.

A wicked punch to his abdomen forced the breath out of his lungs and he doubled up as much as the ropes would allow. Another punch to the face split his lip and he felt blood pool in his mouth. Another to his face, and the blood splattered from his mouth landing who knew where. His heartbeat ratcheted up again as he tensed for the next blow.

Minutes passed. Days passed. Hours passed. He had no idea how long he waited until a soft touch to the side of his face made him jerk. A calloused hand stroked his cheek, and his neck. He trembled at the touch, waiting for the cruelty to begin again. The hand reached behind his neck and squeezed gently, stroking the side of his face and running fingers through his hair. He felt hot breath on his neck and a wet tongue slid up the side of his neck. He shivered and tried to jerk his head away, but the hand in his hair held him firm. The breath withdrew and the fingers caressed his face, then also disappeared. He waited.

A fist slammed into his abdomen again, drawing a pained grunt from him that he couldn't hear. His hair was pulled and his head jerked back as he felt hands encircle his throat and _squeeze_. He couldn't breathe! Stars broke the blackness of his vision behind the blindfold and he twisted in the ropes, feeling them burn into his wrists and chest. His struggles grew weaker and weaker, and then the hands were suddenly removed.

He gulped down great gasps of precious air, but then the hands returned, crushing in their strength, and the stars returned. He bucked against the ropes again, struggling again until he almost passed out, and then the hands went away again. He gasped and sputtered, the air coming into his lungs in fits and starts. His head hung down, and he could feel the hair in his face.

_*************************TWO DAYS AGO*******************************_

Eliot sat in the chair, head back and hair dangling as he shivered. The currents that had burned through his body spluttered now that the cattle prod was gone. That didn't stop the nerve endings from misfiring and make him jump and twitch for no reason. The burns on his skin were sources of agony every time a breeze blew gently through the warehouse. The pain in his chest and _other places _now throbbed in time to his heartbeat. He distantly heard himself moaning but couldn't find it in himself to care.

He drifted.

Sounds of heavy boots dragged him from the blackness. The ropes were cut and his hands were shackled in front of him in heavy iron manacles. Two men dragged him up, their hands under his arms as he jerked from muscles too long abused and ignored. His legs didn't want to work, but they walked him around the building twice until his muscles started to remember their function.

The two men then dragged him outside into the bright sunlight and he squinted in the sudden brightness. A shovel was roughly thrust into his hands and a rough voice said, "Раскопки, собака. Выкопайте вашу собственную могилу, и после этого мы поможем вам лежать в ей." _'Dig, dog. Dig your own grave, and then we will help you lie in it_.'

He spit at the feet of the man who gave him the command, then threw the shovel at his feet. A blow between his shoulder blades drove him to the ground and he landed with his face in the dirt, coughing. His hair was grabbed again, and a voice whispered into his ear, "_Dig, or we will bring the pretty blonde to you and you can dig _**_her _**_grave, yes?_"

He took the shovel and started to dig awkwardly, his face burning as he heard the clicks of a camera, and saw the flashes of the lens. When the 'grave' was deemed deep enough, they forced him down into the hole, holding him down with a boot in his ribs and another on his groin. They took out a gun and held it to his head again, taking photographs the whole time. His heart trip-hammered like it wanted to beat its way out of his chest as his eyes fastened on the barrel pressed to his forehead. Sweat dripped down into his hair. The hammer was cocked, and they pulled the trigger.

'Click.'

He shook with reaction, jerking uncontrollably.

They dragged him out of the hole, laughing at the big joke. They forced him to keep up with their long strides, and he stumbled, but they yanked him back up again.

_"You displease me, dog_," the Russian voice said again. "_You refuse to dig grave. Now you will be punish. Yes?" _The men laughed at the statement, pulling him to a steel table that was sitting in the warehouse not far from the chair he had been tied to earlier. He started to fight, but the hands that had been dragging him now started to punch him all over. He fell to the ground and curled up, trying to protect his stomach and head from the blows. They resorted to kicking him, the kicks landing on his legs, his arms, _andohgodhisballs_. He screamed as they kicked him there, the agony exploding through his body and rocketing up his spine to shoot into his brain.

They stopped for a moment as he writhed in the dirt, shoving his face into the ground to try to stop the burning humiliation. Dimly he felt them pull him upright again, unresisting. He felt his stomach and chest hit the table, and his arms were stretched above him and chained above his head. Rough hands touched him, caressing his back, his ass, his hair.

His cheek rested against the cold metal, a small relief against the heat of his skin. Hands were now touching him everywhere...his arms, his head, the small of his back, even reaching under him to touch his nipples.

Alarm bells rang in his head, startling him into full consciousness. He started to buck and pull at the chains on his wrists, only to have his head slammed back into the table. His head bounced off the metal, and he felt hot blood pouring out of his nose and down his chin.

Hands grabbed his hips and jerked him back, and he felt fingers unbuckling his belt and pulling down his jeans. His face burned again as he realized what they were doing, and he forced his mind elsewhere even as his mouth babbled out, "No, no, no, no no no _nonononononononono_..."

* * *

Nate squeezed the hacker's shoulder and walked to the kitchen where he opened the mail account and looked at the files, clenching his jaw and blinking rapidly to force the tears away.

The first two were photos that showed Eliot bound to a chair with ropes around his wrists, ankles, across his now bare chest, and over his thighs. His hair dripped with water, and the sheen could be seen on his skin. In the first photo his body was arched against the ropes and his teeth clenched in a rictus of pain as a cattle prod was applied to the side of his chest. Nate could see other red marks and burns on his ribcage where he had been electrocuted before. In the other, closer shot, his head was thrown back and the muscles in his body stood out in sharp relief, his neck corded with tension as the device was introduced somewhere lower than the photo showed.

Nate closed his eyes and bowed his head, grabbing it with his hands, as if he could squeeze the images out of his brain. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to quell the nausea that crept up on him.

Nate swallowed hard and opened the third attachment. This one was another video. He quickly muted the sound before anyone heard anything, and watched with growing horror at what played out on the screen.

He slapped a hand over his mouth as he slammed the laptop shut, racing for the bathroom. He just made it in time before he violently lost his lunch, retching into the porcelain bowl for what seemed like forever. Shaking, he slid down the wall and sat next to the toilet, arms across his knees, head down, and cried.

Nate heard voices of concern outside the bathroom, but he reached up and locked the door. He closed his eyes again, trying to control the clashing emotions of rage, guilt, horror, pity and anguish and shove them down so he could go back out there and rally the troops to bring Eliot home again, where he would be safe.

* * *

The two strongmen of Eliot's captors walked up to him and slapped him across the face. Eliot did not respond: no twitch, no blink, no sound. They laughed and traded insults in their guttural language, stepping closer to him, grabbing and fondling him like only a woman ever had, and he just stared vacantly ahead, making no movement to protest or protect himself.

Losing interest in their 'toy', they sliced the rope which bound him to the ceiling girder and let him fall to the ground in a graceless heap. They laughed at the grunt of sound that escaped the hitter when he fell, turning around to light their cigarettes and puff on them in the chill of the night air.

Eliot breathed, he thought, he drifted. He wanted to get away, and then he didn't care. Voices surrounded him, rushing through his ears at a million miles an hour and then stopped, only to return a moment later. He shook his head, clenching his eyes shut as he tried to sort reality from hallucination.

Opening his eyes, he saw black boots standing in front of him, two pair. Facing away. He closed his eyes again, letting his ears pick up the conversation, automatically translating the Russian with the ease of years of practice.

"Do you know what Mikhal is going to do with him?"

_Puff_. "Nyet. The dog is worthless, we have broken him. There is no bounty that will be paid in his condition."

_Puff_. "He should just let us kill him."

"It may come to that, there is no more pleasure to be had."

"Dah. Though there was much pleasure a while ago." Cruel laughter. "That _Amerikanski _ass was sweet."

Eliot glanced up and saw a Makarov pistol butt tucked into the back of one of the men's pants, and knew that this one was loaded; the gun they had used for Roulette had been a Stechkin APS. He closed his eyes again and allowed himself to drift.

"Amerikanski pig," one of them said, sneering down at the hitter. "Lying there in filth. Maybe we clean him up a little, yes?"

Deviant chuckles, and then his arms were grabbed again.

Eliot let them pull him up, sagging and forcing them to take most of his weight as he maneuvered his arm around the back of the one who had the Makarov. He didn't like guns, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to use them.

Eliot grabbed the pistol and thumbed the safety off as he jerked the gun up, shooting three rounds into the chest of the larger man, falling and rolling, shooting the other in the face.

Eliot rolled over onto his stomach, his arms and legs twitching as he lay on the ground.

Eliot heard the Russian curses echo through the building, knowing that this 'Mikhal' was coming. He tried to keep an iron fist around his wandering thoughts and consciousness. Now was not the time to fuck up.

He heard the boots stomping across the floor and right up to him, and was prepared for the vicious kick to his ribs that sent him flying over onto his back. He brought up the gun as he rolled, shooting the man right between the eyes.

_"Dasvidaniya, _motherfucker_."_

* * *

_Dasvidaniya - _roughly translated means 'Goodbye' in Russian. Although Eliot probably translated it to something like 'See you in hell.'  
Please review and tell me what you thought, no flames though, as I _did _warn you that this was on the black side of dark.  
Thanks


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimers: Not mine. Though not for lack of emailing, tweeting, posting, harassing...etc.

_**WARNINGS: I have crossed to the dark side on this fic people. I am being totally serious. This is an extremely DARK fic, so read at your own risk. Descriptions of rape, though not graphic, are in this story.**_

Another A/N: There is reference to my first Leverage story (Trophy) in this and future chapters. It is not necessary to read to understand, but by all means, go ahead and read if you haven't yet, and send me love in the form of reviews!

Dasvidaniya

Eliot heard the boots stomping across the floor and right up to him, and was prepared for the vicious kick to his ribs that sent him flying over onto his back. He brought up the gun as he rolled, shooting the man right between the eyes.

_"Dasvidaniya, _motherfucker_."_

_

* * *

_Eliot woke some time later, a huge weight on his chest and lower body. Pain grabbed him, threatening to take him under again, but he wouldn't let it. He had been wallowing long enough_._

He tried to move, but whatever it was on top of him was heavy. He strained and pulled and managed to get one of his hands free, and pushed at the thing. It was ungainly and soft, not like a ceiling beam or stone, and he rolled his head to the side to look_._

_He was lying in a wagon, his back against something soft and oozing. A putrid smell clogged his nostrils, and the heavy weight on his chest shifted. The bodies in the wagon were being taken to the mass burial ditch at Chechen, and he was trying to get across the border past the guards._

_For two days he had lain in the pit with the rest of the dead, waiting for them to be brought to the wagons. When they grabbed him, he forced himself to land bonelessly like the rest of the corpses, and only by changing position minutely when the next bodies were heaped on him had he been able to make himself an air passage.___

_He felt the wagon stop; angry words in Russian flew back and forth and he closed his eyes as the tailgate of the wagon was lowered. A bayonet went through the bodies again and again, piercing their flesh and making more of the disgusting liquids slide down over the hitter. One stroke of the bayonet went sliced right in front of his face, startling him, and the next through his leg. He stifled a moan and forced himself to stay still, although all he wanted to do was curl up around the injured limb. Finally the gate was raised and the wagon was on the move again._

_For hours he rode down the rutted, gravel roadways, his blood mingling with the filth and stench of the corpses piled on top of him. When he was finally able to slip free of the death wagon in the darkest night, he tumbled into the ditch on the side of the road and shook for an hour before he was finally able to make himself run for the border.__  
_

He startled as the memory assailed him, the ghosts of the dead seeming to mock him still. He looked down again and saw the flat black gaze of the dead man staring straight back at him. Blood had flowed from the wound in the man's forehead where the round had drilled through him, but it had soon stopped when the heart failed to continue beating.

Eliot struggled to push the large man off of him, but he couldn't budge him. The weight was just too much for his weakened body, and with one arm still pinned, he didn't have the leverage. He slumped back to the ground, his head falling sharply to the concrete. He had just enough time to think that it was probably a bad idea to harm himself any further before the darkness closed in again.

* * *

Nate raised his head from his arms, hearing silence outside the bathroom door. He stood and leaned over the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. It gave him no answers so he bent down to rinse his mouth again and again. He reached under the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and downed a shot straight from the bottle, and then another.

He sighed, knowing that now was not the time to drink himself into a stupor. When Eliot was back, then he would drink himself into no-man's land.

He rinsed his mouth again and then opened the door. No one was standing in front of it, and he walked warily out into the living room. The three of them were sitting on the couch, Sophie with her hands wrapped white knuckled on her knees, Parker with her arms around her ankles and Hardison's arm around her.

They all looked up at him when he walked in, their faces heavy with concern. A little light died in their eyes as they saw his face, and Sophie said, "That bottle of whiskey in the bathroom a little lighter?"

He just looked at her and she got up, walked into the bathroom, and returned with the bottle. She took a huge swallow, grimacing as it burned down her throat, then handed it to Parker.

He looked at her, the tacit approval burning in her eyes, and nodded.

"Hardison," he started pacing again, his hand on his chin. "Have you gotten any further with the information we have?"

The hacker jumped up and grabbed the remote, now comfortable in his normal role.

"The IP address they had was spoofed through a number of remote hubs, all leading to different originating computers." The media wall showed diagrams of interconnected lines tracing all around the world, none of them ending in a single location. Then the wall went blank, replaced by an equalizer. "Since that was a bust, I tried homing in on that foghorn. It's a RACON, otherwise known as a Radar Beacon. There are only about 80 of them in the US, mostly under US Coast Guard control or on oil rigs.

"Backtracking the radar signature, I came up with this," he clicked the remote again, this time it showed an aerial photo of a group of islands. "The foghorn being used is the North Channel Entrance Lighted Whistle Buoy NC."

He turned back to them. "That foghorn is right here in Boston Harbor. There are dozens of islands in that area, 36 or more of them in the harbor itself. 34 of those are part of the Boston Harbor Islands National Recreation Area program, which means they are just barren land. However," he clicked again and more photos appeared, layered over one another. "There are plenty of docks, warehouses, abandoned shipyards, you name it, out on that harbor."

"So he's close," Nate said, "Any way to narrow it down?"

"Narrow it..._narrow_ it?...Man, I just 'narrowed it down' from the whole freakin' planet to a few miles of harbor right in our back yard!" Hardison rambled indignantly. " 'Narrow it down'...seriously?"

Nate shook his head at the hacker's mutterings and studied the photos. There were miles...and miles, and miles, of harbor that they had to cover. If only there was something more they could find from the images and videos. Then he remembered the last video, Eliot's face twisted in pain and burning with humiliation, and he put all thoughts of that out of his head.

* * *

Eliot woke more slowly this time, his thoughts crawling around like sand slugs, temptingly close to revelation, but never quite making it. His right arm didn't want to work. He looked up and saw the bulk of the man on top of him. Oh. Right. He was stuck.

He forced himself to dig into the man's pockets, and was almost giddy when he pulled out the cell phone, intact, from the pocket.

He dialed from memory.

* * *

Nate paused in his pacing when his phone buzzed. Looking at the Caller ID, he frowned. It wasn't a number he knew.

"Hardison, can you trace this?" he asked, thinking it might be the kidnappers with more gloating or demands.

Hardison raced to sit at his laptop and nodded at Nate to pick up the line.

"Ford," he said in a brusque tone.

There was no answer.

"Ford...is anybody there?" He could hear the same foghorn in the background, and he motioned for Hardison to keep tracking.

He heard a slight sound, and pressed his other hand against his ear so he could hear better. There it was again.

"_Eliot?" _

"...n...'ate..." He heard the voice, small and hoarse, and knew that it was the hitter. "We're tracking you now, Eliot, hang on, we'll be there soon."

He tossed car keys to Parker and said sternly, "You drive." She jumped up eagerly and Hardison grabbed his laptop. Nate rushed to the bathroom and grabbed towels, bandages, rubbing alcohol and anything else he could find and threw it all in a traveling duffle, the phone still firmly held to his ear. He came out to find Sophie with a couple of blankets under her arm, shoving bottles of water into her now empty purse, the contents still rolling off the counter. Parker and Hardison were already out the door.

They ran down the stairs to the Yukon and piled in the backseat, Parker behind the wheel and Hardison in the passenger seat giving directions.

While the two in the front were occupied, Sophie put down the back seats and the seat between them, no easy feat while the vehicle was in motion. Nate kept talking to Eliot, not sure if the man could even hear him, and tried to hear any sound from the other end of the line. He watched as Sophie laid out the blankets in preparation for a wounded hitter, and he was thankful for her insight.

Parker drove like a maniac, and for once Nate was grateful. At this time of night the streets were nearly deserted, and thanks to the scanner he had had illegally put in, they were able to avoid the police easily.

"Eliot, we're coming. We're on the way, just hang in there, do you hear me?" He hadn't heard anything for the last few minutes, and he was afraid of what that meant.

Not soon enough, Parker pulled into a factory district, old abandoned warehouses stretching for miles. They continued to weave slowly in a generally easterly direction while Hardison narrowed down the search.

"Got it!" he yelled suddenly. "That way, about 500 feet," he said as he pointed to the right.

Parker drove to the front of one of the warehouses that sat near the back of the lot, pulling the big SUV straight to the front doors and flicking on the high beams. Nate heard a faint rumbling coming from the phone and knew it was the engine of the truck they were in.

"This is it!" he said as he leaped out of the vehicle, running to the sliding doors and pulling them open as he ignored the cautioning yells of the others. "Eliot!" he yelled. "Eliot!"

The interior of the warehouse was black as pitch, and the headlights only illuminated a small portion of the vast space. He looked for a light switch, but couldn't find one.

"Everyone spread out!" he ordered, walking into the dim warehouse. "Eliot...Eliot where are you?" He heard the calls of the others and their footsteps echoing in the empty space. He could make out crates and boxes along the sides of the far walls, and a few chairs and tables knocked over and strewn haphazardly around the area. Straight ahead of him was a pile of what looked like clothing, and he walked towards it sideways, trying to keep himself out of the light so he could see what it was. He squinted. "Eliot, where are you? Eliot?" he kept calling.

The light hit a pale hand, and he stopped in his tracks, suddenly horrified at what he might find. The hand was deathly still and pale, lying in a wide pool of blood.

"Eliot?" he whispered.

Something moved in the pile and he was so tense he jumped back a foot, but then rushed forward again. His eyes adjusted, and the pile of clothing turned out to be a pile of dead men. Nate's hands shook as he rolled them over, looking for the hitter. A bare foot moved, and he stepped over someone's leg, pulling the man off of the body below.

"Eliot, thank God! _Over here!"_ he yelled to the others, and instantly he heard running footfalls clamoring in the building.

Nate rolled the dead man the rest of the way off of Eliot, and grimaced at what he saw. Blood seemed to coat him from his head to his feet, clinging to his body in rivulets and trickling down under him and soaking into his jeans. A gash was torn across his temple, burns covered his chest and sides, and his wrists, oh his _wrists_. The skin was flayed open, blood crusting the edges and pooling under his hands, one of which still held a cell phone.

Parker was the first to arrive and she ignored the blood to kneel at Eliot's head, tenderly touching his cheeks with soft hands. "Eliot, hey Sparky, you're okay now, we're here...you'll be okay," she murmured the litany continuously, and Nate saw the hitter's eyes blink and look up, focusing on her lips.

He heard a gasp, and looked up to see Sophie standing with her hand over her mouth. She had always known that he was the muscle, the hitter, the one who cracked heads and got his head cracked sometimes as well, but she had never expected it to come as close to home as this. She looked at his broken and bleeding body and sank to her knees beside him, a tear flowing down her cheek.

Thudding footsteps then, and Hardison's shocked voice, "Dayum, man..._Dayum!_" He knelt too, on the other side of Eliot. "Nate...what do we do?" The hacker's large dark eyes were fixed on Eliot, as if he was afraid to look away for fear that he would disappear again. Or worse.

"We have to get him back to the truck where we have more light and can tend to him better, and then we'll take him to the apartment."

Voices raised in objection.

"Nate, he needs a hospital..."

"The apartment?..."

"How will _we_ take care of him?..."

Nate knew that Eliot would never forgive him if he took the hitter to the hospital after what had happened. He was beaten and bloody, true, but Nate didn't think any of the wounds were life threatening.

"We'll call Dr. Daniels. He's treated Eliot before, and will have his history." That placated them for the moment, and allowed him to concentrate on what they were going to do next. "All right," he said. "Remember how we did this before?" They all nodded, and moved into position beside Eliot, Parker and Nate on one side, Hardison and Sophie on the other. They slid their hands under his body and lifted in one smooth motion, then carried him out to the SUV.

Sophie had left the back door open, and they carefully lifted him into the back where she had made the pallet of blankets. Once he had been laid down, Nate and Sophie crawled into the back with him, and Hardison got in the front and watched from the driver's seat. Parker got into the side of the SUV to be nearer to Eliot, brushing his hair back from his forehead and murmuring in his ear.

Nate opened the duffle with the first aid supplies and started to wash Eliot's chest gently with the bottled water that Sophie had brought, and he saw her do the same. "Hardison, take my cell," he handed it to him, "and call Dr. Daniels. Give him a brief overview of what happened and ask him what we should do."

The hacker browsed the phone directory, grateful to have something constructive to do. Nate heard him talking in the background, but most of his attention was on Eliot. Most of the blood on his chest wasn't his, a fact that Nate was profoundly grateful for. Sophie made little apologetic sounds in the back of her throat, and he looked up to see that she was working on Eliot's wrist and his hand was twitching. A violent shiver suddenly raced through the hitter's body, and he grabbed one of the extra blankets and covered him snugly.

"Doc said to bring him to the clinic," Hardison said from the front of the SUV.

Nate nodded. "Ok, go ahead and drive. We're stable enough back here for now."

Hardison turned around to the front again and started the vehicle and shifted into drive. Nate returned his attention to Eliot's other wrist as Hardison navigated the streets to Dr. Daniels clinic. They had been there months ago, the last time that Eliot had been kidnapped. He had been severely wounded by a group of trophy hunters and required aid that a hospital would have questioned, and they met Dr. Daniels through Sophie. The man had been a brilliant internist, but because of bribes, litigations and threats, had stepped down to follow his second passion, healing animals. Therefore, he was a veterinarian at a local animal shelter. Since then, he had also become Eliot's unofficial personal physician.

Nate flushed Eliot's wrist with the bottled water and washed it with a cloth, then lathered an antibacterial ointment on it and wrapped it snugly. Eliot's hand twitched a little when the water was poured over, but there was no other reaction. Nate tucked his hand under the blankets to keep him warmer, then sat back and sighed. There was not much else he could do until he had a chance to talk to Dr. Daniels.

They rode in silence for miles, the only sounds the heavy engine and Parker's soft murmurings as she crouched beside Eliot, one hand on his shoulder and the other playing gently with his hair.

A short while later Hardison pulled into a darkened parking lot, the only light an overhead bulb hanging from the rafter. A shadow stood at the door and beckoned them.

The truck stopped and Hardison and Parker came around to the back, and they resumed their roles as a human stretcher, carrying the injured hitter into the back of the clinic. Dr. Daniels indicated for them to lay Eliot on one of the exam tables and they did, carefully placing him on the surface and sliding their hands out from under him.

Nate pinned the doctor with his gaze as he said, "Let's wait in the other room until the doctor has had a chance to examine and treat him."

A negative chorus greeted that pronouncement, and he was relieved when the doctor caught the unsaid message. "He's right, I'd like to have a little privacy for this," he looked at their hands, covered in blood. "And you all might want to wash up as well." They looked at their hands then, and with faces of disgust and horror, they all rushed out of the room to the nearest sink.

The doctor turned to Nate and spoke. "I assume you don't want them in here for a reason?" He said in his deep baritone.

Nate nodded. Now that he was alone with the physician, he didn't know how to bring it up. "I know that Hardison told you that he had been kidnapped and tortured," the doctor nodded at the statement. "Well, uh...other, um, _things_, happened too." He took a deep breath. "He was raped."

The other man's eyes were surprised for a moment, and then understanding and professionalism covered it. "And they don't know?"

Nate nodded again.

Dr. Daniels turned to Eliot. "Go on and wash up Nate. There's coffee and snacks in the waiting room. I'll be out when I'm done." Then the entirety of his attention was on his patient as he slid a needle into the inside of the man's elbow and injected a sedative, watching as the dull blue eyes that had been looking at him rolled back in the hitter's head.

* * *

Eliot's head was muddled and hazy, his thoughts sliding around without stopping. He heard voices and felt hands under his head, shoulders, back and legs, and then pain assaulted him as they laid him on a hard surface. He couldn't move to relieve the pain, nor could he voice it. His body wouldn't respond.

He heard Nate's voice then, as clear as day.

'_He was raped.' _Oh, God, Nate knew.

Then all he wanted was to be thrown over a cliff. He felt the sting in his arm and the warm rush as a soft blanket was thrown over his mind and his thoughts and he was wrapped in the fog of forgetfulness.

* * *

TBC, of course. Any suggestions, requests, please push that button! And if you love me, push that button!


	3. Chapter 3

Dasvidaniya Chapter 3 A sincere THANK YOU to all of my wonderful reviewers out there, and I apoligize for not being able to reply to each and every one of you. Thanks especially to Southern Hemmy, your review was enlightening and intriguing, as were they all. Another shout out to my Irish, closerthanacybersib girl, who helped with this chapter as well, though I don't think she realizes it! THANKS CHICA!

**_Dasvidaniya_**

He heard Nate's voice then, as clear as day.

_'He was raped_.' Oh, God, Nate knew.

Then all he wanted was to be thrown over a cliff. He felt the sting in his arm and the warm rush as a soft blanket was thrown over his mind and his thoughts and he was wrapped in the fog of forgetfulness.

* * *

Dr. Daniels looked at the pale body of the hitter resting on the table. Every once in a while he would shiver, and the physician opened a packet, shaking out the foil blanket over him, tucking it in around his hips. He pulled on a pair of gloves and picked up one of Eliot's hands, assessing capillary refill. He frowned, noting that the younger man was severely dehydrated. He turned to the cabinet behind him and pulled out an IV of saline and the tubing required, then back to Eliot. He hung the bag on the pole above the bed then swabbed the back of Eliot's wrist and inserted the needle, seeing the flashback. Satisfied, he taped it down and adjusted the flow.

Seeing that Nate and the others had already cleaned off most of the blood, he concentrated on now treating the wounds. He probed Eliot's forehead, frowning when he saw that a chunk of hair had been removed..._ripped_? from the scalp. He cleaned it with a gauze pad and applied a little liquid bandaide to seal the clotting gash.

The worst of the injuries that he could see were the cuts and gashes on Eliot's wrists, and he gently unwound the bandages from each one. The cuts were deep on each, but thankfully had not severed any main arteries. He could tell that the blood loss had been severe though, and he drew a vial to type and cross when he got a chance. Settling himself on a stool beside the bed, he opened the suture packet and threaded the needle, pulled down the magnifying lens over his eyes and went to work on the stitches. When one wrist was done, he rolled to the opposite side and mimicked his actions with the other. When he was done he stood and stretched, then bound soft dressings around the areas.

Moving down, he folded the blanket over the man's hips and started on the burns that were scattered over his chest. Dr. Daniels shook his head, sighing at the damage done for the mere sake of torture. He had no idea what this man, these people, did for a living, but it was obvious that Eliot had made some very bad enemies. Each burn he found he cleaned and then covered with antibiotic cream, leaving them open to breathe. He would cover them later, but for now he simply treated and moved to the next, watching the hitter for any reactions as he did. The sedative had been light, just enough to knock him out for a little while, but from reactions in the past he wouldn't be surprised to see Eliot awake aready. Though he twitched a few times when the doctor had applied the antibiotic to the more sensitive burns, he hadn't yet awakened.

Taking a deep breath and steeling himself for the next chore, he pulled the blanket off of Eliot. He reached over and picked up the shears, cutting up the sides of his jeans and folding them back. He saw more of the burns and applied the cream, then started to turn Eliot onto his side to continue his treatment. A strong hand grabbed his wrist and he looked up into angry and confused blue eyes. Eliot was half sitting up, propped up on an elbow, twisting around so he could see the doctor. Daniels stopped moving, holding still until the hitter's eyes cleared a bit.

"Easy Eliot," he said evenly. "Do you know where you are?"

He watched as Eliot glanced around, taking in his surroundings with his eyes and ears. "Daniels...th' clinic?"

Dr. Daniels nodded. "Yes. You're at the clinic. Nate and the others brought you here. You've been hurt." His steady voice seemed to soothe the skittish man's nerves, because the hand on his wrist relaxed ever so slightly.

"Do you remember what happened?" he asked, ready for any reaction.

Eliot's eyebrows furrowed, his brain processes turning like wheels in melted tar. He could see the young man's eyes twitch and flicker as thoughts ran through his brain, seeming to flee faster than he could catch. The blood drained from Eliot's face then, and he tensed again, pushing Daniels away from him. He snarled, "Get the _fuck _away from me!"

"It's okay, Eliot, I just need to take a look at you, make sure you're all right."

" 'm fine," he growled.

Daniels shook his head, "I just need to check you to see what damage has been done."

Eliot frowned. "Th' beat me," he said in a breath. " 'S just m' ribs, an' stomach hurts." He shook his head. "Gimme few days...'be fine."

"Just let me check you out and then it'll be over." He stood still, not wanting to aggrivate the man. "It's okay, Eliot. I'm here to help, that's all." Daniles reassured again.

Eliot felt himself start to tremble violently, his eyes wide with shock as he remembered Nate's words. _'He's been raped.'_

"Eliot. Breathe...take a deep breath. It's okay." Daniels said, moving so Eliot could see him. "It's okay. It's over now." He watched the hitter pale. "I'm here to help. No reason to lie to me, okay? Just tell me what you need and if I can do anything."

Eliot struggled to take a breath, and then another one.

Horrible thoughts raced through his head: the humiliation, the taunting, '..._they're dead_...' digging his own grave for God's sake, ...Nate knows..._'He's been raped'_... the team must know what happened, the excruciating muscle spasms from the stress positions, _did they know?_

Around and around the thoughts tumbled, making him dizzy and naseous and he just wanted it to stop.

Dr. Daniels moved slowly towards the younger man, placing his hands on Eliot's arm and feeling the tremors. "I'm just going to finish working on those burns, okay?" he said steadily. He gently pulled the rags of Eliot's jeans off and dropped them onto the floor, frowning when he saw more of the burns on the back and sides of the man's thighs. He picked up the antibiotic again and daubed it on his skin.

Eliot gasped then as Daniels hit a particularily tender spot on his thigh. He looked down in reflex, and froze as he saw hands on his leg. His heart started to race again, the thunder in his ears drowning out all other sounds. He felt beads of sweat drip down his face as he fought against _fleefightkill!_

"Easy, Eliot." Daniels said, easing back and pulling his hands off the man. "You're safe."

Eliot tried to push himself back into the mattress, retreating from the doctor. His brows furrowed and he started to breathe even faster as he tried to get away. He shook his head minutely, "...no...no...no.._nonono_.."

"Breathe." Daniels instructed.

He moved slightly onto his side, arms slightly raised to his chest with his hands out as if to ward off a blow, his head turned and looked at the wall as he panted, stars starting to dance around his vision.

"..I...don'...it.._god_..." was all he could manage to stutter out, the connections shorting between brain and mouth. The air felt thick, and breathing was a struggle.

The doctor picked up a syringe, tapping it again and pulling the cap off. He swabbed the man's upper bicep, plundging the needle in. Pushing down, he saw the liquid disappear.

Eliot felt the tiny sting as a needle went into his arm, and then he started to feel hot all over. His vision fuzzed and then greyed out. He felt his hands drop to his stomach as he lost control of his body and sank back to the mattress, and then his eyes rolled back and he was gone.

Daniels sighed as he watched Eliot succumb to unconsciousness again, falling back onto the bed limply. He clenched his jaw and began the hardest part of the examination, wishing that there was more that he could do.

* * *

Parker and Sophie sat in two of the chairs in the dim waiting room, Parker with her arms wrapped around her knees and rocking slowly, Sophie pressed into the cushions as if she wanted the chair to swallow her whole. Hardison paced the tiny room, his long legs taking him from one side to the other in moments. Nate stood in one corner, his arms wrapped around himself, one hand against his chin. Hardison's frenetic movement were making him dizzy, but looking at the girl's frozen silence he decided that their reactions weren't much better.

He watched the hands on the clock move slowly, wishing that they'd just jump forward a few weeks so Eliot would be healed and on his way to being their hitter again; gruff and growly, but protective, and, dare he say it, _happy _with his family?

He startled when he saw Dr. Daniels at the door, and instantly Hardison was at his back, waiting for any word on how Eliot was doing. Parker and Sophie reacted more warily, unfolding themselves from their chairs and hesitantly tip-toeing up to the men. Hardison backed up a little and gathered them in front of him, his arms protectively around their shoulders as they waited for Daniels to speak.

"Well?" Nate asked, unable to wait any longer.

"I've given him something for the pain, and to relax him, but he should be fine in a few days to a week. He's dehydrated so I have him on an IV of fluids and I'm heading to the lab to cross check his blood type, unless you happen to know it...?"

"AB Negative," Hardison piped up immediately. The doctor nodded.

"Okay, I'm going to give him a unit then, he lost a bit of blood from those gashes on his wrists. He should be out for a couple of hours yet, that will give him time to finish the rest of the IV and for me to run a few tests, and then I think it would be alright for you to take him home," he said. "You can go on in to see him, if you like." He said it to the retreating backs of the three younger members as they immediately filed into the room where Eliot lay. Dr. Daniels put his hand on Nate's arm, holding him back from the others.

"Nate," he started softly, knowing the other man didn't want the rest to hear. "He woke up about halfway through. He knows what happened, and I think he realized that you know as well." He watched Nate's face for reaction.

Nate held his poker mask firm. "What can I expect?"

Daniels sighed, "He's angry. I think you'll get more of that, even though he won't realize why he feels that way, at least not in the beginning. He's either going to get more and more angry and violent, or he'll withdraw from everyone." He shrugged. "There's no way to tell."

Nate nodded, already planning on buying plenty of cleaning supplies and brooms for when Eliot went ballistic at the apartment and started breaking things.

"Thank you, Dr. Daniels," he said, and followed him into the treatment room. As he had expected, Parker was closest to Eliot, one hand on his shoulder and the other smoothing his hair. She was bent down, her forehead touching his and whispering into his ear, even though there was no indication that he heard her. Sophie was sitting on a stool, holding Eliot's limp hand in hers, stroking it with her fingers as Hardison stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, just watching Eliot's face.

Eliot lay on his back against a few pillows, a blanket covering him up to mid-chest and an IV in the back of one hand. His eyes were closed and they could tell that he was unconscious by the bonelessness in his limbs and lack of any kind of response. His mouth was slightly open, his soft breath stirring Parker's hair as she murmured to him.

Nate watched as Dr. Daniels chose a unit of blood from a cooler cabinet, hooked it to the other side of the IV pole and quickly inserted it into Eliot's wrist, taping it down and then retreating.

"I'll be in the lab," the doctor said as he stepped back. Nate nodded and he left, and then Nate sat down heavily on a chair, watching the team as they watched Eliot.

* * *

An hour and a half later Eliot started to stir, blinking owlishly as he moved his head slightly. Parker, who hadn't moved from her spot, perked up and smoothed his hair back again, murmuring some more. Eliot blinked again, his eyes slowly focusing, and he looked around. Seeing all of them hovering near, his brow furrowed.

"Wha 's matter?" he rasped, his throat thick from the drugs.

"Just waitin' on you to wake your lazy ass up," Hardison quipped, smiling. "You done with th' sleepin' beauty routine yet, man?"

Eliot lifted his lip and mock-growled at him, readjusting a little, then stiffening as the movement brought pain. He closed his eyes to ride it out, sweat breaking out on his forehead. Parker made a little sound of distress and bounced over to the sink, returning with a wet cloth that she used to wipe his face and neck.

He leaned into her touch, his body craving the comfort and ignoring his fears for the moment. He settled down when the pain started to recede, and opened his eyes again. Parker was still close, an expression of worry marring her face as she watched helplessly. He took a deep breath and tried to smile, watching her face light up.

Nate looked up and saw that the IV bags were empty and withdrew quietly, walking back to the lab to find Dr. Daniels.

When they returned, they found Hardison and Parker bickering over Eliot with Sophie sitting near him, her hand on his as they watched the pair. Eliot's eyes were at half mast, blinking heavily, and Nate could tell that the man was clearly exhausted.

"Enough!" he barked, and Parker and Hardison stopped mid-yell, turning to him like a couple of schoolchildren guilty of cheating on their math quiz. "Daniels said we can take Eliot home to rest, so let's get him ready, okay?" His suggestion was met with a relieved smile from Hardison, and a giddy bounce from Parker. Eliot started to struggle into a sitting position, but Dr. Daniels walked to the bed and put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down onto the mattress.

"Easy there, Eliot, I don't want you moving any more than you have to right now," he said as he started to remove the IVs. "Nate, I want you and your team to carry him out to the SUV just like you carried him in, alright?" He overrode Eliot's weak arguements and looked sternly at the man until he snapped his mouth closed and just glared at the doctor.

Daniels had placed a couple of thick blankets under Eliot during the last examination for just this reason, and as he packed together a few prescriptions for the hitter, he instructed the others to wrap the blankets around Eliot, effectively cocooning him in the softness. Eliot didn't fight them, being too tired and weak at the moment, and as soon as the soft, warm blankets had been tightened around his body, he started to drift off.

Sophie watched fondly as Eliot fought unsuccessfully to keep his eyes open, but his lids kept falling until they didn't open again, and she knew that the hitter was asleep. She nudged Nate, and they all looked at Eliot and dropped their voices into a hush.

"Nate, these prescriptions will last him for a week, after which any infections should be gone. If he gets sick, or the burns bother him more, call me." He handed the bag of antibiotics to the man and Sophie took them from him, tucking them into her purse.

Nate nodded and they took their positions on either side of the sleeping hitter, well familiar with the routine now. They slid their hands under him and lifted him off of the bed and walking towards the door with him in their arms. Parker was at one end, Eliot's head resting in the crook of her arms. She lifted him a bit higher until his forehead lay against her shoulder and quickly bent down, brushing a soft kiss over his lips. His eyelids fluttered and he looked sleepily up at her, and then closed his eyes again, slipping into dreamlessness.

Dr. Daniels led the way, opening the door for them and then walking to the SUV to open the back door. He watched as they carefully laid Eliot on the pallet of blankets, Parker perching at his head again and Sophie sitting on the other side. Nate drove this time, and Hardison gave him a nod as he got into the passenger seat.

The morning birds had just begun chirping, and in the dark stillness just before dawn, the doctor watched as they drove away. He sighed, hoping not to see the young man in such a state again, but knowing, deep in his heart, that he probably would.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimers: The characters are not mine. Though not for lack of emailing, tweeting, posting, harassing...etc. This _story_ however, _is_ mine, and if you want to archive it somewhere, just ask. No stealing and changing names, Ebbychan. We know who you are.

_**WARNINGS: I have crossed to the dark side on this fic people. I am being totally serious. This is an extremely DARK fic, so read at your own risk. **_

Additional AN: This chapter also deals with depression, which I have struggled with my whole life. It is an insidious thing that can make a person just give up on living, so if you think that this is just an over-dramatization for the sake of a good story, think again.

**Dasvidaniya**

It was still too early in the morning for the bar to even think of being open and the other residents of the apartments above had yet to hear their morning alarm clocks. The group of four who carried their fifth went unnoticed then as they slowly climbed the back stairs to the second floor. Nate, keys in hand, opened the door and they filed inside with the cocoon that was Eliot and went directly to the spare bedroom and laid him down onto the bed. He hadn't awakened through the entire drive, and it looked like he was going to keep sleeping for the near future.

Not wanting him to get over-warm, they unwrapped the blankets, leaving one covering him for modesty. As before in the clinic, no one seemed to want to leave him alone and they all took places around the room. Parker settled herself cross-legged on the pillow next to his head, constantly smoothing his hair. If she kept doing that, Nate mused, the hitter would lose the rest of his hair.

Sophie sat in the chair beside the bed, reaching for a newspaper and setting it in her lap, but only reading the lines on Eliot's face.

Hardison paced a little, excusing himself for a moment. When he returned, it was with his laptop and an orange soda and he sat cross-legged on the dresser, sipping his drink and randomly tapping keys, his gaze darting to the hitter every so often.

Nate leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he watched each of them with Eliot. He pondered the fact that no one was willing to leave the hitter alone, even in his sleep.

The sun moved through the sky and neighbors came and went, their muted sounds thumping and clattering softly outside the apartment. Night came and McRory's opened its doors, the music thudding its bass beats along the floor of the rooms as the bustle of the bar continued and its patrons came and went, the soft bell above the door announcing each one.

Eliot continued to sleep, moving restlessly every once in a while, and Parker or Sophie would soothe him with a word or a touch. He would settle then until the next nightmare caught him up, announcing itself with a tossed head or a moan.

The night wore on, and the sedatives wore off. Eliot woke randomly, each waking becoming longer and more lucid. Parker backed off and by unspoken agreement, the team members wandered off until there was only one or two in the room at a time, as they didn't want to crowd the hitter.

He woke fully a few times and managed to get up with Nate's help to walk to the bathroom, shutting the door in the man's face. Nate simply waited silently outside the door, helping Eliot back to the bed wordlessly. Eliot then dropped off into an exhausted sleep again, only to be troubled by deep dreams. Parker came in then, somehow knowing before they got to their worst and chased them off with a touch on his shoulder or a kiss on his cheek, and he would sink into a more restful sleep.

Nate didn't know how the thief knew when Eliot was fighting the nightmares, but he was glad of her quiet insight. She seemed more in touch with reality in those moments, as if she realized that her craziness and light hearted flirtation with another reality was in jeopardy if Eliot wasn't there to protect it.

LEVERAGE

Eliot opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times as his blue eyes roamed around the room.

"Eliot? Sweetheart, are you awake?" a softly cultured voice asked.

He turned his head and saw Sophie leaning towards him from her chair.

"Yeah," he managed to say, and she heard that he had trouble with his voice because she got up, picked up a glass of water from the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed. He let her lift his head and hold the glass to his lips as he swallowed the water.

"Slowly," she admonished, and he nodded. She laid his head back down and he closed his eyes, admitting to himself that it was sort of nice to let her take care of him.

He felt her hand brushing his hair back from his cheek and opened his eyes again. "It's okay, sweetie," she said as his confused and slightly alarmed eyes moved around the room. "You're at Nate's, you're safe now." She continued to brush her fingers lightly across his forehead. He was tense and his eyes flitted around like a startled deer, but gradually he settled.

"That's it, darling," she soothed.

He looked back at her and she smiled. "Feel up for some food? Soup?" she asked.

He thought about it for a minute and then nodded, and her smile grew. "I'll be right back."

She stood and walked to the door and as soon as she was gone he felt the bed dip on the other side. He jerked his head to look and saw someone moving on the bed. He tried to tense up and the blankets got in the way, but before he could panic he felt a familiar hand on his hair.

"Easy, El," Parker said softly, her fingers moving gently through his locks. He looked up and saw her sitting next to him and he relaxed in fits and starts, only to find himself tensing again. "It's okay," she murmured, petting his hair and talking to him in low tones like she would a terrified puppy who had been kicked once too often. Finally his meager store of adrenalin wore off and he lay still, trembling under the blanket. She straightened them over his chest so he could move, and he gradually stopped shaking.

"Hey," he whispered. Parker grinned, her smile lighting up her face.

"Hey yourself, Sparky," she said, equally as quiet.

There was a light knock on the door and Sophie came in, bringing a tray with a few bowls on it and setting it on the nightstand. Eliot struggled into a sitting position and she waited until he had settled to put the tray across his lap.

"There's a light beef stew with vegetables, some applesauce, mashed potatoes and orange juice, darling," she said. Noting his dark look, she added, "I know, but Dr. Daniels wants you to eat soft foods for the first meal or two, just to make sure your stomach will handle them."

He nodded throughout the sentence, well familiar with 'invalid fare', and picked up the soup spoon. Too soon he was full, and he sat back against the headboard, his head back and eyes closed. He felt a hand on his forehead again. "It's okay, Sparky," Parker said. "You'll be back to normal in no time," he heard the smile she forced into the words.

LEVERAGE

For three days Eliot kept getting stronger, staying awake for longer periods and able to eat regularly. The first shower was heaven to him, and he stayed under the water, sometimes scrubbing furiously, for long enough to exhaust the building's hot water supply. Hardison grumbled for two days, telling the hitter and anyone else who was in the vicinity how he had gotten numerous complaints from disgruntled tenants, but his half-hearted protests were ignored, and he didn't much care. He was only happy that Eliot was up and walking around again.

The burns on Eliot's body needed to be cleaned daily, and those on his back that he couldn't reach Parker would take care of with his quiet instruction. Hesitantly at first, her fingers grew more confident at soothing his tense muscles after the bandages were changed, and he'd relax back into the bed and sleep for about an hour.

The wrappings came off of his wrists after the fourth day, and Nate examined the stitches, pronouncing them infection-free. Eliot silently agreed; Dr. Daniels had done a good job.

Nothing could be done about the numerous bruises on Eliot's torso and legs, so the team just watched as they turned from a dark and angry purple black to the healing but still sickly looking greenish-yellow. They kept the wrapping around his ribs in place for a few days, but Eliot was aware of the movements he could and couldn't make, so they were removed as unnecessary after getting wet from the numerous showers Eliot insisted upon.

Nate understood Eliot's desire for the showers, even though Sophie and Hardison looked at him a bit oddly. They didn't know if the hitter was normally this fastidious or not, but they just shrugged their shoulders and let him have his way. Nate was relieved, and didn't notice that Parker tilted her head after the third day and sixth shower and jerked a nod to herself, then went back to harassing Hardison.

On the fifth day Eliot started getting snappish and angry, and Nate thought about the brooms and 409 in the closet, thinking that he might have use for them soon. The hitter snarled at the others, obviously chafing at his confinement and the constant attention but didn't plow his fists through any drywall, much to Nate's surprise.

On the sixth day Eliot forced Nate to relent and let him go back to his own apartment with the promise of checking in every day or so. Eliot knew that Nate would come over to his apartment if he didn't agree, so he reluctantly nodded.

LEVERAGE

Eliot walked into his apartment, dropping the keys in the basket on the table beside the door. He quietly looked around at the devastation still evident and sighed. Apparently the rest of the team hadn't thought to check the apartment before dropping him off.

When the Russians had come to his apartment to find him, they'd broken down the door when he looked out the _p_eep hole and shut the deadbolts, refusing them entry. A fight had ensued, and his apartment was left trashed in the aftermath. He remembered most of the fight, down to the very last when something had been broken over the back of his head. Looking into the living room, he saw the sofa and chairs overturned and cushions strewn all over, the CD rack lying on the floor and the CD's scattered and broken into shards. The screen of the old TV was shattered, glass all over the rug in front of it. The lamps were on the floor, their shades ripped and the bulbs broken and the end tables were on their sides, the legs of one of them split or broken in two.

The kitchen wasn't much better. The pots and pans that normally hung from the ceiling rack were scattered on the floor, and the refrigerator door was ajar. The disgusting smell that emanated from it told him that he'd have to empty it entirely and scrub it from top to bottom. Luckily, the Russians had never gotten a hold of his knives, which were in a locked cabinet below the sink.

Eliot looked around at the destruction and sighed, feeling remote, cold, uncaring. He dropped his jacket onto the floor and walked through the mess to his bedroom and closed the door. He sat down on the bed, toed off his boots and laid down. Pulling a blanket over himself, he lay in the bed still fully clothed.

LEVERAGE

When Eliot got up the sun was setting. Reds and deep purples were splashed across the sky in beautiful patterns but for once he didn't look outside to marvel at it. He walked past the window without a glance and went into the bathroom, going through the motions of a shower now without much effort or thought.

Finished, he grabbed the first thing out of the closet and got dressed, pulling his hair back into a ponytail. He walked out to the kitchen and was almost overwhelmed by the stench. For the next two hours he emptied the refrigerator and took the bags immediately out to the garbage, washed, then scrubbed the inside of the fridge until he could no longer smell anything except bleach.

He sat back on the kitchen floor then, his arms outstretched on his knees as he looked at the rest of the house. Something tiny shifted inside him, telling him that he really ought to clean up the rest of the mess but that voice was soundly crushed. Apathy reigned, and he just sat there. Now that the most pressing of the problems had been eliminated, he just didn't want to deal with the rest of it.

The darkness of the apartment finally stirred him. He stood up and paused to get his bearings, then slid his feet along the floor so he wouldn't step on anything until he got to the light switch. One of the three bulbs still worked, and it cast a dim light on the living room. He moved the chair back onto its feet and put the cushion back on, then sank into it. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, his chin resting on his knees and sat there for the rest of the night, looking into the dark of the window outside.

When the morning came, he didn't notice it. The room gradually got brighter and brighter, but the occupant didn't bother to move. The sun shining into his eyes finally made Eliot blink, and he turned his head. He saw the detritus of his life on the floor and it didn't move him. He stood and walked to the door, grabbing his jacket on the way out.

Eliot walked. He didn't know where he was walking, or why, but he wanted out of the apartment. Shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his head into his collar, he walked along the streets and past storefronts, ignoring all of the people he usually waved or said 'hello' to. Their worried gazes watched him until he turned a corner or passed out of their sight. The normally smiling and happy young man that they had gotten to know was gone. They all knew he had a rough exterior, but with them, the shopkeepers and street people alike, the ones he considered 'his own', he had a protective streak a mile wide. It wasn't like their 'protector' to ignore them and pass by without even a glance, and they knew something was wrong. Every one of them vowed to watch out for him now, when it looked to them like he wasn't capable of watching out for himself.

Eliot's feet took him around the neighborhood without seeing any of it, which was extremely out of character for him. Usually he would have his head up high, his ears and eyes alert for all changes to the surrounding scenery and people, noting movements, cataloging sounds and watching everything. Today, he noticed nothing and heard less.

His feet stopped and he looked up. The apartment. Back where he'd started. Back where it all started. He heaved a sigh and climbed the stairs to his door again and opened it, letting himself back into the war zone.

LEVERAGE

Parker found herself drawn to Eliot's apartment more and more. She resisted at first, knowing that Nate and the others wanted to leave Eliot in his own space to deal with what had happened, thinking he'd come to them or call them if he needed to. She knew better. She knew he'd never ask for help. He was too much of a lone wolf, even still, to admit to weakness. Yes, he called Nate daily, but it was just to keep the hound off the scent. She recognized avoidance when she saw it.

So the night came when she looked in from his window, watching him as he meandered around his apartment. It had been days since he'd been back to his apartment, and she was extremely surprised to see that the place was a mess. She thought back and realized that they had never checked his apartment before letting him go home, and that was a mistake. Obviously the destruction was from the fight with the Russians when they had kidnapped him, but for some reason he hadn't cleaned much of it up.

She watched to be sure he wasn't injured again in any way that would keep him from doing it, and she frowned as she saw him moving about with no problems. Well, it was much slower than normal, but he didn't seem to be hurting.

Also odd was that as she watched him, he didn't indicate any interest in doing..._anything_. He moved sluggishly, as if he hadn't slept for weeks. And then she found out he wasn't.

She would come by at odd hours of the day and night, having found a window she could look into that had a good vantage point of most of the apartment, yet couldn't be seen from the street. Parker never found Eliot sleeping.

Until one day, she did.

She had come over around dinner-time, assuming that he'd be cooking, but she didn't find him in the kitchen. She moved to another window, but he wasn't in the bedroom or the living room. Deciding he had gone out for something, she let herself in through the tiny bathroom window, and really, he should know better than to even lock this one because hello? Parker. She shrugged as her feet slid to the floor silently and she moved into the living room.

Standing in the room, she again marveled at the destruction. Furniture was broken, the TV was destroyed, and why hadn't he even cleaned up the glass? He could hurt himself again.

Moving through and heading to Eliot's homemade gym, she stopped suddenly. He was sitting on the floor of the gym, braced upright in the far corner. His eyes were closed, and his hands were hanging limply over his upraised knees. She started to rush towards him, thinking he had fallen when she realized that he wasn't in a position that indicated such. He was breathing steadily, and she could see no indication of blood or anything alarming, so she backed out of the room. She went back to the window and let herself out, perching in her observation area and waiting.

About ten minutes later Eliot walked like a zombie out of the gym and headed for the refrigerator. He opened the door and stood there for a moment, finally pulling out a half eaten deli sandwich and eating it from the wrapper as he stood in front of the now closed door. Her eyebrows went up. He wasn't cooking, either.

The next time she went over, he had been sitting in the living room on the one unbroken chair, staring off into space. Without warning, he got up and walked into the kitchen. He got a drink of water from the sink and then turned around, cornering himself in the cupboards and slid to the floor. Again propping his arms on his upraised knees, his head fell back against the cabinets and his eyes closed.

With narrowed eyes Parker noticed that he stayed there for about fifteen minutes before jerking back awake and standing up again, only to wander through the apartment again, picking up one object and carrying it to another part of the house. He was cleaning, in a sense, but it was at the speed of a turtle.

She watched for a few more hours and noticed him lay down behind the couch once for about twenty minutes, and then it hit her. He was sleeping in corners, behind things, curled up in a ball or with his back to the walls. Subconsciously or not, he was still terrified.

LEVERAGE

AN: Thanks for reading, and hopefully reviewing, this chapter! I'm gonna shamefully plug another of my stories here, a collaboration called 'Taming Wahya', under the co-pen name of Irishwhim. It's a heavy e/p romance...ok, smut...story that you might need a cold shower after. Read and review please? Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimers: The characters are not mine. Though not for lack of emailing, tweeting, posting, harassing...etc. This _story_ however, _is_ mine, and if you want to archive it somewhere, just ask.

_**WARNINGS: I have crossed to the dark side on this fic people. I am being totally serious. This is an extremely DARK fic, so read at your own risk. **_

AN: OK, this took a sharp left turn and ended up being a _heavy_ E/P chapter, but I hope it doesn't turn you all off ;)

AN2: A HUGE Thank You and hats off to my dear friend, Irish, who let me bounce ideas back and forth, and also beta'd for me. Thanks girl, Love Ya!

**Dasvidaniya**

Parker paced back and forth on the roof, trying to figure out what to do. She had already ruled out calling the others: Sophie would come over and try to mother him to death, which was fine if he was just hurt on the outside, but Eliot was wounded on the inside, and that was something that all of Sophie's mothering could not fix. Nate would bully himself into Eliot's space, demanding answers, answers that Eliot wouldn't know, or refuse to divulge, and then Nate would start drinking again out of frustration and that would just make it all harder. Hardison, well...Hardison. He was earnest in wanting to help, but he'd had such a normal upbringing compared to hers and Eliot's that she didn't think he'd be able to connect to something so vicious.

Which left her.

She sighed, pacing again.

She wasn't sure if she should just barge in and start cleaning; treating it like it was just a mess that needed to be taken care of, kind of like a lamp that had been knocked over accidentally, and nothing more sinister than that. Maybe she should sneak in and do it when he slept? No, she wouldn't be able to do much in the fifteen minutes he slept now. Or should she break in when he was awake and make a game of it...teasing as she helped him?

Maybe she should ignore it and he would snap out of it? If she waited long enough, surely he would wake from the fog and realize what was surrounding him and tackle the project himself?

She threw that idea off the roof as soon as she thought it: he was in a major funk, and there was no way he would 'snap out of it'. She'd seen these moods before. She'd had them. And even though there was a tiny part which lived inside, begging to be let out and into the light, the outside shell was so numb, so apathetic, so _uncaring_ that it almost sought out more pain, more misery, so that it could tell itself that it was just what they deserved.

She tilted her head. There had been a sound. Wait for it...

There.

There it was again, a moan, a sharp cry hastily muffled. Jumping nimbly off the edge of the roof onto the ledge, Parker scuttled over to the window that she watched Eliot through and peered in.

She could see his foot behind the couch again, and every once in a while it would twitch, followed by a whimper. Her hands tightened on the windowsill, wanting to go in but yet Nate's new admonitions of 'privacy' hammered in her skull. When another sharp cry sounded, thoughts of privacy flew out of her head.

She dropped down into the room on silent feet, creeping over to the couch and peering down.

Eliot was curled into a ball, back against the wall as his hands alternated clawing at the floor and clutching at his knees.

Nightmare. She knew how to deal with these, no matter the sources.

Unconcerned that he would lash out at her, she started humming an aimless tune softly and crawled behind the couch, folding herself behind him gently and working her legs under his head and upper body. His hands moved from his knees to her legs as she pulled him up, half in her lap, stroking his hair.

Eliot's breath hitched and a breathless whimper sounded from behind his tightly pressed lips but she continued to soothe him, crooning wordlessly into his ear and kissing his head as her hand swept his hair back.

Slowly Eliot calmed, his shaking fading and the heart-breaking sounds softening. Soon he was sleeping soundly, and Parker stretched her leg and grabbed the throw from the back of the couch with her toes, bringing it back down so she could spread it over his body. She settled more comfortably against the wall, prepared to watch over him for as long as he needed her to.

Hours went by, interrupted now and again by a tensing of his muscles that told her that he was being dragged back into a nightmare. She would start humming again, stroking the side of his face and rocking gently back and forth. Sometimes it headed the nightmare off at the pass, but sometimes it grabbed him anyway. At those times she just held on, stubbornly refusing to back down, and eventually she always won out, even though her heart clenched at the desperate noises he made in the back of his throat.

The sun tracked along the wall opposite Eliot's hideout; Parker's eyes watched absently as each hour it dropped lower and lower until it faded completely. Left in the dark, she continued to hold Eliot, unafraid of the night and willing to fight it off for him.

Much later, Eliot stirred. It was a different feeling to Parker than the helpless tossing of the nightmares; this time his movements had purpose and..._Eliot_...behind them.

She let him sit up and saw him knuckling at his eyes in the dim light of the streetlamps that threw a tiny bit of illumination into the room. She sat still, waiting for him to fully awaken, and when he did, he didn't seem surprised that she was there. He moved away slowly, pressing his own back to the wall beside her and pulling up his knees.

"You stayed?" His voice was rough with lack of use, cracks threading through as plainly as those in an abandoned sidewalk.

"Yes." She spoke aloud because even in the dark she wasn't sure he'd notice. And even if she nodded, she wasn't sure he'd hear those marbles that Hardison said were rolling around in her brain. _She_ certainly couldn't.

"Why." It wasn't a question that demanded an answer but she gave him one anyway in a shrug.

"Didn't have anyone to rob."

He took it as a normal Parker-answer and didn't look deeper, further, where he'd have to delve into the reasoning why she'd be _here_, with _him_, when he obviously wasn't worthy of the company.

They sat there for a while longer, until the creeping chill of the night started to make her fidget, and she pulled the blanket over herself as well, moving closer to his warm body. Even lost as he was he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, his instinct to protect her outweighing his need to flee into himself.

Parker leaned into his side, her hand on his stomach as they sat without speaking, a sudden shudder or shiver making the other soothe their hands over skin. He turned towards her a little and she responded by tucking her head under his chin in the hollow of his neck, her soft breathing warming his chest. He pulled the blanket up further, tucking it around her shoulders, and his hand didn't move away.

Sleepily, she felt her eyelids closing against her will as she melted into his embrace, and was slightly surprised when she felt his lips press onto her temple. She waited, wondering if she'd imagined it, but then he did it again, nuzzling his nose into her hair. He breathed deeply, his hand tightening on her shoulder as he released a soft, breathy moan.

Slowly, she tilted her head up until her lips rested on his chin, his stubble scratching lightly across her lips.

Haltingly, he lowered his lips to hers, pausing. They inhaled each other's breath, tasting it, learning it, before he reached down that fraction of an inch more to press his lips to hers softly at first, and then more demanding. He opened his mouth, his tongue running across her lips, demanding entry. She let him in and their tongues slid along each other, twisting, licking.

His hands were fisted suddenly in her hair and he pulled his mouth away slightly, panting, his eyes clenched tightly. She felt an inner struggle warring within him and she understood it.

He'd been attacked, brutalized, assaulted in such a manner that it would leave any man feeling less than themselves, unwanted, worthy of only shame and rejection. He was struggling to find a way to make himself _more_, prove to himself that he _was_, indeed, still a man.

No matter that this was what she'd been yearning for nearly as long as she'd known him, but was afraid to let him know. His endearments that she was 20lbs of crazy, something wrong with her, and just plain not right were okay with her, even sweet, but she'd wanted more. She didn't care that maybe his mind wasn't in the right place for her right now, this was for _him_, and if he changed his mind later, well, she'd deal with that then.

"It's okay, Eliot," she whispered, and pulled his head back down to hers, her tongue invading his mouth gently, teasing his out to play with hers.

A violent shiver of release went through him and suddenly his hands were all over her. He pulled at her sweatshirt until he'd gotten it off, tossing it over the back of the couch. His fingers were at the hem of her tank top and then it was gone, her breasts bared to the chill of the night air. He didn't leave her much time to become cold as he pulled her to him, his hands spread wide across her back, his mouth on the curve of her neck.

Parker moaned her desire to him, her breath starting to come in small stutters as his touch lit a fire in her that burned to her core. Writhing against him, her fingers unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it back; holding his arms back for a moment, bound in the sleeves of his shirt as her eyes hungrily devoured the sight of his well muscled chest.

"Mmmmm," she moaned before he could tense, and his head sank a fraction of an inch, his eyes becoming predatory. He struggled out of her grip and one hand went to the back of her head, drawing her in to another deep, demanding kiss.

"God, Parker..." he gasped as her hands roved across his chest, her fingers tweaking his nipples and he arched into her hands.

His mouth was on hers again, and then he was bearing her to the floor underneath him. A shiver went through her and heat blossomed between her legs as his hands roved over her, pulling her legs apart to settle between them. His head bent down and his lips caught her nipples; she gasped and arched into his mouth and felt his teeth clamp around the taut pebbles.

She whimpered and her hands flew to his head, her fingers fisting in his hair as he nibbled on her, his hand cupping her other breast.

"Eliot..." she breathed. "Oh God, Eliot...don't stop, _please_..."

He growled softly in the back of his throat, which only made her whimper harder, and his hands moved down to the waistband of her leggings. Teasingly, his fingers dipped below the material and she felt them exploring just at the top of her softly curling pubic hair. She grabbed his arm to try to push his hand down further, but he snarled and resisted her.

Giving up, she moved her hands back to his hair, threading her fingers through his dark locks.

As if in reward, Eliot slid lower until he was cupping her, her warmth soaking into his hand as she moaned, grinding her pelvis into his hand. Her moan turned into a gasp as he fingered her, two fingers spreading her as a third teased.

"Please, oh please, godeliotplease," she whimpered and then he thrust three fingers into her wetness, making her cry out in pleasure.

He started slowly, letting the pressure build as he curved his fingers, finding her g-spot easily. Parker panted and whimpered, writhing on the floor as his fingers brought her to the brink over and over, never quite letting her go.

"Eliot! God! _Please!"_ she cried, grabbing his hand and clawing at his chest. He grinned and thrust his fingers into her deeply, forcefully, and she started to clench as he sped up his thrusts, slamming his fingers into her again and again.

With a scream Parker orgasmed hard, clenching his fingers inside her as she moaned his name.

Eliot held his hand still until she settled, then drew her leggings off with a smooth pull. Her hands found his belt buckle and nimbly unfastened it and his jeans, and his cock jumped into her hands.

He arched his back as her hand closed around him, moaning as he breathed hard. His hips thrust slightly, pressing his cock into her hands and she could feel him lengthening, thickening.

"Parker..." he breathed. "God...I wanna...I wanna..."

"What," she whispered, her voice thick with need. "What do you want to do to me...?"

He looked down at her and she licked her lips. His brows rose as she slid downwards, kissing a trail down his chest and over his abdomen, following the narrow trail of hair down to his groin.

"_Uuungh!"_ he moaned out as her hot mouth closed around his cock, her tongue licking up the underside of his shaft. His hips pumped again and she made a happy sound in the back of her throat which only made him thrust again. He braced himself on his hands and knees as she sucked him, her head bobbing up and down on his cock while her hands busied themselves with ridding him of his jeans.

Once the rest of his clothing was gone, her hands slid up his muscular thighs to grab his ass, her nails digging into his skin and drawing another moan of pleasure from his lips. His eyes rolled back in his head as her fingers wrapped around his balls, tugging on them as her teeth scraped along his length.

"Parker..._godparker_ you gotta stop or I'm gonna cum..." he mumbled.

"Isn't that the point?" her sultry voice came up from between his legs and he nearly lost it right there but he clamped down on himself, stilling her hand with his as he slid down her body.

"Not just yet," he growled, positioning himself between her thighs. Parker gasped as she felt him hard between her thighs and he rubbed the tip of himself over her clit. She moaned at the pleasure of feeling him so close, so hot and hard.

"Eliot..." she breathed.

"Yeah?"

"Please...please...stop teasing..."

Parker arched with a silent cry as he pushed into her, his long, thick cock filling her up and more. He paused to let her adjust to his size and then started moving, slowly, his buttocks flexing as he moved.

Planting her feet on the floor, Parker rose to meet his thrusts, rolling her hips into his.

Whimpering, moaning, shaking, they moved together as he slammed into her, her eager cries begging him for more.

"God, Eliot, faster, faster _hardermoreplease!"_

The sounds of their bodies slapping together filled the room, their harsh breathing a staccato counterpoint rhythm.

Parker screamed as she climaxed again, clamping down on Eliot so hard he couldn't move for a moment. He froze, reveling in the force that pulsed over his cock and then he was moving again, his body bowing as the feeling climbed up his legs to grab at his spine.

He trembled, on the brink, and Parker grabbed hold of his head, her fingers in his hair as she looked at him.

"Cum for me, Eliot," she whispered, locking her eyes to his. "Cum for me."

He focused on her eyes and moved, thrusting into her as he listened to her moans and whimpers, her hands forcing his head still. The pressure climbed, building within him until he felt like he'd explode, trembling in her hands.

Her hands tightened into fists in his hair and something broke loose, twisting his spine as he came, his face contorted into a mask of _pleasurepainagony_ as his body spasmed above her. Her scream echoed his roar as they came together, their bodies clenching at each other until their breathing slowed, their bodies trembling in the aftermath.

Eliot sank down, bracing himself on his elbows, his body shaking too hard to move, but he didn't want to squash Parker.

"Come here," she said, pulling him down onto her fully. She reveled in his weight on top of her, his limp, exhausted, _satiated_ body weighing hers down.

Eliot slowly sank down, giving in to her pulls until he was resting on her warm body, his head nestled in the crook of her neck. Her fingers moved absently over his back, his arms, his neck and he felt sleep dragging him under. He tried to fight it, struggling to stay awake until her whispered words took the fight away from him.

"Sleep, Eliot. I'm here. I'll stay here with you. Sleep."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimers: The characters are not mine. Though not for lack of emailing, tweeting, posting, harassing...etc. This _story_ however, _is_ mine, and if you want to archive it somewhere, just ask.

_**WARNINGS: I have crossed to the dark side on this fic people. I am being totally serious. This is an extremely DARK fic, so read at your own risk. **_

AN: Last chapter the train derailed somewhat, and I'm hoping it didn't turn anyone off too badly. Here is my attempt to get it back on track, and to have E/P deal with what happened.

**Dasvidaniya**

Eliot woke slowly, warmth surrounding him and trying to lull him back to sleep, but he resisted. His head and body ached in a way that told him he'd been asleep for far too long already.

He moved and felt a hand slide over his back. He froze.

The gentle words he heard were overlaid with angry ones, Russian voices, male and female mixing, harsh and soft, angry and concerned. He started to shiver, his body shaking when he couldn't untangle the threads.

He didn't dare move for fear of more of..._that_, but the hand on his back didn't hit him, didn't lash out at him, didn't hurt him.

Slowly his trembling subsided and a soft, clear voice overrode the harsh Russian curses.

"Eliot, Eliot, it's okay, I won't hurt you," she whispered over and over, her hand moving in slow circles on his shoulder. He'd slept soundly for hours, only starting to wake when the sun rose weakly behind clouds that threatened rain. She worried that nightmares were following him again.

"You're okay, Eliot, you're safe," she murmured, feeling him slowly stop shaking.

His muscles tensed and he sat up again. Again she pulled back and let him, her eyes raking over him as she watched him soak in his surroundings. Recognition slowly dawned on his features as he realized he was naked, that they _both_ were naked.

Unconcerned as always, she figured the less emphasis placed on that awkwardness the better, so she stood and stepped over him.

"Gonna use your shower," she called over her shoulder as she pranced down the hallway, acting as if she did this every day.

He watched her pale body disappear into his bathroom and he shook his head, trying to figure out what the hell had happened and why. Well, the what wasn't so much of a problem; he could feel himself responding even as he thought of it, and he forced those ideas out of his head before he had more of a problem on his hands.

The why, though, confused him.

Why had he slept with Parker? Why _now_, of all times, after what had happened? It wasn't as if he didn't want her, he did, he had for a while, but he'd vowed to let her come at him in her own time and place. Yet here he was, the memory of her writhing beneath him making his face turn red as he thought about it.

Why the hell would she have wanted _him_...unless... No, he didn't think he'd forced her, she hadn't acted scared of him. No, it had definitely been mutual.

He reached out and grabbed his abandoned jeans and pulled them up, fastening them as he stumbled into his kitchen to splash cold water on his face. Maybe he should stick his head in the freezer.

He sighed, bracing himself up on his arms against the counter as he stared out the window above the sink. He heard Parker bouncing around in the bathroom, opening and shutting doors and drawers as she poked around, snatches of odd songs floating above the shower as it ran. He pictured the water running over her...

More cold water on his face. That didn't work, so he shoved his entire head under the faucet and shivered.

He stood up, twisting the water from his hair and ignoring it as the droplets slid over his chest and down his back, raising more goosebumps. He turned back to the living room and stared.

The aftermath of destruction still littered the room and he didn't know what to do, where to start, what chore to begin with first. His eyes roved over the debris and his brain blanked.

He started with a gasp as a cold hand touched his shoulder, and he jerked away.

"Sorry," Parker said, her wet hair twisted up in a knot and wearing an old tshirt and drawstring shorts of his that she'd managed to find. "Didn't mean to startle you." She would mark it down as the second time she'd been able to startle the hitter, and vowed never to do it again if the look in his wounded and terrified eyes was because of her.

She turned away suddenly and walked into the kitchen and Eliot was afraid he'd scared her before she came back with a broom, bucket and garbage bags. She thrust them into his hands and shoved him toward the living room, pulling on a pair of gloves that went to her elbows.

"Come on, Sparky, let's get our asses moving," she pushed past him and dived into the living room, making him hold the garbage bags open while she picked up the broken and shattered pieces of his life.

With her helping, prodding, pushing him, they managed to empty the living room of everything broken and had hauled bag after bag to the dumpster. They had swept and vacuumed up the glass, gotten rid of the broken TV and end tables, made a list of the CDs and DVDs that needed to be replaced (Parker was sure that Hardison would be more than tickled to reburn them for the hitter) and managed to make his living room look a little like it had before the fight. He would need to replace the TV and some of the furniture, but at least he wasn't in danger of slicing his feet open if he walked into the room.

Throughout the afternoon he'd watched her, looking at her every once in a while to see if she was maybe thinking of what had happened last night, but she seemed oblivious, intent on her task as if it was a precious vault that she was breaking into.

And in a way, she was. She was breaking into his life, whether he wanted her to or not. Carefully, methodically, she found pieces of him that needed fixing, and she made notes to herself every time she saw him flinch, or pause, or look at her out of the corner of his eye. She found him fascinating, and even though she was watching him more closely as he was her, she made no outward sign of it, instead keeping her discoveries close to her heart until she could show him that this time, this moment, was when she stole _him_.

LEVERAGE

Nate showed up at his apartment long after Parker had breezed out. He stood at the door, oblivious to Eliot's stiff posture and clipped words; he was a bit intoxicated. Okay, maybe more than a bit, but don't tell Eliot.

"What are you doing here, Nate?" Eliot bit out, not happy about his sanctuary becoming less and less of one.

"Wanted to check on you, Eliot," he countered, his breath smelling of Johnny or Jack, Eliot couldn't quite tell yet. "Make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine, now go away," he attempted to close the door, but a loafered foot blocked it. "Dammit, Nate..."

"Eliot, Sophie has been going out of her mind with only your terse phone calls. I just want to let her know that you are alright."

"Can't you see that I am?" his voice rose. "I'm fine, now...Go. Away." he repeated, stronger this time.

"Eliot..."

"What!" he cried, lunging back and whipping the door open. "Wanna see? Wanna take a look under the bed? Make sure nothing is hiding? Wanna look in the cupboards? Make sure my knives are still there? Maybe my _wrists_?" He held them out. "Make sure I haven't _sliced_ them?" His voice was snarling now, angry and full of red.

"Eliot," Nate began again. Gentleman Jack. He was sure of it now.

"Can't you leave me alone? Can't you leave me the fuck alone?" He was turning red in the face now, the anger and humiliation surfacing as he remembered that Nate _knew_, knew what happened, knew what those bastards had done to him.

"Did you tell her? Did you tell _them_? Do they know?" His rapid fire questions spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them. He did not want to know. He didn't want to start this, didn't want to talk about this, didn't want to _remember_.

"No," Nate said firmly. "They don't know, and they _won't_ know, not unless you chose to tell them. I give you my word."

Eliot looked at him, the animal howling behind the bars on a tight tether, any false move threatening to snap the leash. The look in Nate's eyes didn't lie, but there was something else there, and after a moment Eliot knew what it was: Pity.

He growled. Nate narrowed his eyes in confusion. "I mean it, Eliot. I won't tell them."

"Dammit, Nate, Sophie's a grifter. She'll figure it out. Parker already knows."

Surprise covered the mastermind's face. "She does? How?"

Eliot shrugged. "She knows," he repeated. "I don't know how, but she knows. And then Sophie'll figure it out, and then she'll tell Hardison because she wants to let him know not to talk about it around me and not to mention anything about it and stick his foot in his mouth like he does when he's nervous and then she'll come over to me and smother me and try to weasel the truth out or worse try to make me talk about it and..."

He started gasping for breath as his mouth worked faster than his brain and the filter between the two short-circuited. Nate made a mistake and stepped closer, putting his hand on Eliot's shoulder.

The shock of contact made Eliot jerk back violently, his eyes snapping back into focus somewhere else as he shoved himself backwards, nearly toppling over the back of the couch as it hit him in the back of the thighs.

"Eliot, I'm sorry," Nate said, "It's okay, you're okay. You're safe here, Eliot," he repeated the mantra, unmoving, until the hitter looked at him and let out his breath, his shoulders visibly shaking.

"Get out."

"Eliot, I don't think you sho..."

"I said: Get. _Out!"_ the hitter snarled, fury filling his eyes as he started towards the door.

Nate backed up hesitantly. He didn't want to leave the man alone like this, confused, probably scared, and beyond pissed, but he had no choice. Eliot might take it into his head to forcefully eject Nate from the apartment and if he hurt the mastermind, would heavily regret it even though Nate would bear no grudge.

The door slammed in his face and his shoulders slumped. Sophie would be reassured that Eliot was fine physically, but he needed time to get his game face on again before she would believe him that the hitter was alright. He needed more Jack.

LEVERAGE

Eliot listened to Nate's footsteps as they retreated, his shoulders shaking in rage as he tried to calm himself down.

Why the hell was this bothering him so bad? Nate was just coming to see how the reality matched the imagination from his short and not-so-sweet phone calls so he could reassure Sophie and therefore keep her off Eliot's back. Really, Nate was the middle-man here, the messenger, and no one shoots the messenger.

Which meant that he needed to confront Sophie, the one who wanted, who _needed_ to make sure the hitter was alright. Because then she could reassure Hardison that everything was going to be fine, and everything was going to go right back the way it had been before.

Except that it was a lie. He wasn't alright. Everything wasn't going to go back the way it was. It couldn't.

He'd been taken from his apartment..._his _apartment!_ His!_ Never mind that the Russians had been nearly three times his size, never mind that Eliot had been awakened from a deep sleep and never mind that he was a little groggy. He was their hitter, their Retrieval Specialist, their muscle. He was the one who was supposed to be better than everybody else, and they'd taken him out of his space like it was nothing.

The muscles in his back bunched with tension as his fists curled and uncurled, looking, _begging_ for release. He raked his hands through his hair and could feel his arms shaking with nervous energy.

He grabbed his jacket as he slipped shoes onto his feet and opened the front door. For all that he didn't want to be outside right now, didn't want to be seen, he couldn't stay in a place where the walls were closing in on him.

So he ran. He didn't pay attention to where he was going, but others did. The street people, the vendors, the businessmen who'd seen him venture out meekly a few days ago were thrilled to see him again, running like he often did. They noted that he was still not wholly aware of his surroundings, and in fact, seemed oblivious to much, but at least he was out in the world again, and they could hope that he would continue to peek out until he reclaimed 'his' territory.

Eliot ran until the breath was haggard in his throat, wheezing and straining against a stitch in his side. He pushed himself further and further, just another mile, just another block, just another step. Only when his legs were jelly, shaking and threatening to put him down, only then did he slow and finally stop.

Panting, he walked in slow circles, his hands on his hips, trying to get his breath. When he was finally able to breathe without gasping, he slowed to a stop again.

And he realized where he was.

Outside Sophie's apartment.

Why the hell would he have come here? Oh, right. He needed to convince the grifter that he was fine. He had more chance of convincing Parker that she hated gold and fortune cookies were bad for her. What the hell was he thinking?

Only it was too late to do anything because the door was opening and Sophie, regal as ever, was walking down the steps in her immaculate Dolce and Gabbana suit and Manolo Blaniks on her dainty feet.

"Eliot!" she cried out in surprise and happiness, rushing over to envelop him in a hug.

"Don't, Soph," he backed away, aware of how rank he was at the moment. "I'm all sweaty and shit."

"Eliot Spencer, don't try to run away from me," her hands held his upper arms so she could look at him closely, her unfathomable eyes examining him as deeply as an X-Ray would. "You're not eating enough," she scolded, head tilting and lips pursing.

"Why do I think you'd say that even if I was 350lbs? I'm eating fine," he argued back.

"No, you're not," she countered. "Your cheeks are hollow and I can tell you've lost at least fifteen pounds." Damn the woman, she was good. Except it was seventeen.

"Sophie," he started tiredly, rolling his eyes.

"Eliot. Don't. Don't argue with me."

"Look, Nate told me that you're worried. I just wanted to let you know that I was okay. Yeah, I might have lost a little weight," he shrugged, running his hand through his hair. "But I'm feeling better."

" 'Better' enough to go running further than you should?" A raised eyebrow caught him out.

"Okay," he confessed. "Maybe I got a little lost in my head and forgot where I was going for a bit." Her eyebrows rose even further at this admission. "But really, darlin', I'll be fine. You know I push myself to get better, and this is part of it."

He shot her a winning grin and she melted, his southern charm covering the inner wounds, wounds that he hid from everyone, even himself.

Hands on her hips, she finally acquiesced. "Alright. But you're going home in a cab." She held up a finger as he opened his mouth. "I insist."

Rolling his eyes and letting her see it, he nodded, still smiling. She stepped to the curb and waved a taxi down within moments; Eliot figured they waited on the corner for the raven haired beauty and raced to be the first to her hand.

When the yellow cab stopped, she opened the door and ushered him into it, placing a kiss on his cheek before backing out. "It's good to see you up and around, Eliot," she said softly, her dark eyes softening.

She shut the door and retreated to the curb, watching as it pulled away with the hitter. She didn't believe him that he was okay, but maybe it was enough to know that he _would_ be.

* * *

End...? I am not sure this chapter wrapped up enough of the threads of the story, so I need you guys to let me know. Is there something else you need closure on? Push that little blue button and let me know ;)


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